Possibility
by ZiggycamefromMars
Summary: It seems the chosen one has found HIS chosen one. (A fanfic mostly consisting of Drarry, with a little bit of Hermione/Ron on the side for good measure.) {Currently on hold}
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello, and thank you for taking the time to read this! This is my first Harry Potter fanfiction, and I do hope you will review/enjoy. **

**There are also mentions of a Hermione/Ron relationship which will be forming, but Drarry is the main focus. **

* * *

"But could you really imagine it?"

Harry snapped out of his half-dazed trance, an arm languidly draped over one knee. He furrowed his brows with mild confusion, before a slight chuckle slipped through his lips. "Sorry Ron, what was that?"

"Oh bloody hell," Ron hissed, an overdramatic sigh slipping through his lips. "You're distracted again, aren't you? You need to pull yourself together. What is it, Cho Chang on the brain?"

Even though he wasn't in the slightest bit amused, Harry still had the decency to laugh. "Cho? Oh come on, Ron. We went our separate ways over a month ago. She was torn up about Cedric."

"Torn up?" Ron repeated, spluttering slightly, "Harry, she was _suicidal._"

"Where _have_ you been getting this information from?"

Ron looked blank, blinking with feigned innocence. "Fred and George?" Harry offered, a frown tugging at his lips.

"Might've been."

"Sorry, what was that?" he playfully grinned, elbowing Ron in the side. "Didn't quite hear that. Oh! Hermione hasn't gone and put a silencing spell on you again, has she?"

The ginger haired boy shifted in his seat, lanky arms and legs all a tangle with his duvet. The fire flickered nearby, some specks of dust and ash staining the carpeted floor. And Ron fiddled with his fingers underneath the duvet, expression suddenly bashful, shy. Hermione had that effect on him lately.

"Ron, I didn't mean it."

"Just leave it, Harry!" Ron snapped, his head sharply jerking away from the hand Harry reached out. He pressed his lips into a thin line, staring fiercely into the fire. "S'nothing to worry about."

So Harry left it—reluctantly, too. That was Ron all over: an enigma wrapped in layers and layers of lies (when it came to Hermione, of course). Any other time in their life Harry could understand him, would know exactly how to respond or what to say, but not at times like this. Not when Ron was being so bloody difficult.

Ten minutes passed, and then ten more. Nobody said anything. It was silent- spare the odd flicker of fire and Neville's gentle scratching of parchment in the corner- until Hermione came stalking in, her hair all dishevelled and hands clutching at a mass of leather-bound books.

"Harry! Ron! What on _earth_ are you doing up at this ungodly hour?" she cried. When neither of the boys answered, but merely groaned into the sofa, she frowned, sitting herself down beside them, forcing them to part.

"Yes, of course. Let's ignore Hermione."

"We're not ignoring you," Harry meekly offered, stifling a yawn as he ran fingers through his dishevelled hair. "We're just…tired."

"All the more reason for you to go to bed," she sharply countered, raising a brow. "But you wouldn't do that, would you? More important things to do, I suppose."

Harry chuckled under his breath, nodding. "Yeah, exactly. We've got…stuff to do."

"Like what."

"Things."

Hermione raised a skeptical brow, a thin-lipped smile playing on her lips as she shook her head. "Right."

Harry threw his hands up in the air as a gesture of surrender, exasperated as he exclaimed, "Alright! just…things _Nothing important_."

"Good. Then I trust you'll be off soon?" Ron made a muffled noise of protest from under his duvet, and Harry remained quiet, staring down at his fingers. When neither answered after a few moments more she sighed, pink lips curling into a half-smile.

"Shall I tell you about what happened to Malfoy today?" Harry opened both eyes, his body growing rigid. Hermione felt this, and decided to play on it, smirking behind a pale hand. "Oh. I think I might. But, only if you go to bed afterwards."

"Who cares about _bloody_-"

"Fine," Harry shrugged, cutting across Ron with a slightly dismayed look. "Tell us."

With a simple flourish of her wand the books disappeared. A mischievous twinkle played in her eyes, and Hermione shook her head, chuckling under her breath. "Snape's keeping him back after class for three whole weeks."

Harry swallowed thickly. He too was to suffer the same fate as Malfoy, yet…it didn't seem all that daunting now he knew Malfoy would be joining him. He simply remained staring at the floor, unblinking, and Ron glanced across at him with furrowed brows, supplying, "And?"

"I just thought," Hermione moved to look at Harry, "you would like to know."

"What, you think we're going to run to his rescue? That we're actually interested in his bloody life?" Ron hissed, sliding back under the covers. "We have standards, Hermione."

"Oh, I don't doubt that for one second, _Ronald_." She scowled slightly at the Weasley, rolling her shoulders back as she turned to address Harry. "Bed. The both of you. I won't have Ronald falling asleep in his cereal again."

And like two naughty children (petulant ones, at that) Harry and Ron hunched their shoulders and stalked towards their room. Only Harry bothered to properly wish Hermione goodnight, as Ron stifled a half-hearted mumble of, "G'night."

Once they were out of earshot, safely within their own haven, Ron threw himself into his bed, lying face-down for a few minutes while an indignant Harry looked on, half focused on Ron's Hermione dilemma, and half focused on his own dilemma with the sharp, tightening sensation he felt in his chest at the mention of Malfoy.

"She only calls me Ronald when she's angry with me," Ron, started, looking mournful.

"That's true," Harry agreed, kicking off his shoes. "But when you think about it, she does care, doesn't she? Mione thinks the world of us. I guess it's why she's acting like our mother."

Ron still frowned, the crease lines in his forhead more prominent than ever. "Don't do that, Ron. You'll end up with weird, saggy wrinkles."

"Don't matter," the ginger-haired boy mumbled, pulling back his covers and sliding in his bed. "No girls ever come near me."

Harry made a small noise of protest, wriggling out of his clothes and into his pyjamas. He wrinkled his nose slightly as he watched Ron turn away from him, the boy obviously in one of his moods again.

"Is it any wonder? I mean, you sleep in the same clothes, Ron. Girls like hygiene."

"Really," Ron sarcastically replied, "I'd never have guessed. Thanks for enlightening me, Harry. I'll brush my teeth in the morning, and I'll have girls all over me. Thanks!"

He ignored the sarcasm, nose wrinkled up. "You don't brush your teeth? Ron, that's _disgusting_!"

"Keep it down, will you?" Ron sleepily growled. "I need my beauty sleep."

_Not really_, Harry thought to himself as Ron turned out the light. _You just need a decent bath._


	2. Chapter 2

Notes: Yes, we begin to see Harry as confused and somewhat horrified by his crush on Draco in this chapter, but it doesn't mean I think being a homosexual is wrong. I completely support all relationships, and I'm just putting this out there because once upon a time a reader was deeply horrified and thought it was me thinking those things. If you feel uncomfortable with said relationships, please don't read. Thank you for reading! The first chapter has been edited, so it's better. *Sigh* I always feel like my first chapter really lets me down, and I hope I can get better at writing. Some pieces of my fanfiction are better, I find.

* * *

A soft wind blew in through the window of Gryffindor's tower, the rich red curtains billowing in a way that reminded Harry of dragon's wings. He lay sprawled out in his bed, sweaty, hot and tangled in a mass of duvet and blankets. A hand stretched out and fingered the air, stroking the cold blast of air that blew in through his windows. It was peaceful and beautiful, yet something still bothered Harry. Unlike the dreams he usually experienced, this one had been different. And it had felt so, so wrong.

The thin bead of sweat that currently rested on his nose dripped down to rest on his cheek, reminding Harry of the tears he'd shed when he had awoken during the night. His hands had been tangled in the blankets, gripping onto them like they were some sort of lifeline. And his head had grown weary with torment and want, the images that had flashed behind closed eyes both disturbing to him and intriguing.

Five minutes later Ron woke. He silently mouthed something about breakfast to Harry, and Harry merely nodded. He didn't feel hungry after that night. There was something wrong about the whole thing, and he worried that if he dared open his mouth, Ron would laugh.

After all, he wasn't supposed to imagine Draco in such a way, was he? They were enemies. And boys. It was…wrong (and oh so right).

* * *

As per usual the great hall smelt mouth-watering, mountains and mountains of food piled high on each table. And, as usual, Ron had taken a great delight in piling his plate high, and was currently stuffing his face full of jam toast and pastries. Hermione, on the other hand, was thoughtfully chewing on a piece of toast; her eye casually darting across to look at Ron in what she thought was a secretive manner.

But Harry knew better.

He hadn't touched his plate of toast and fruit that Hermione had so willingly dished up for him, his stomach rumbling slightly and hands shaking as he nervously fumbled with the napkin in his lap. With the lack of eating and distraction, he found his mind wandering. Too often he had seen the two friends stealing glances at one another; Hermione occasionally making a snippy remark at the slightest thing that Ron did. But, Harry had decided, it was out of love. And Ron was just as in love with Hermione as Hermione was with Ron. It was a bitter thought, really, to think of his two best friends falling in love with one another, whilst he had to remain alone and wanting the wrong thing.

Falling in love was something Harry used to laugh about with Ron, when the two of them would lie in the burrow together, the scattering and clashing of pots and pans crashing throughout the house. Ron would laugh the hardest, mimicking girls' voices to an impressive level—so much, in fact, that Harry had snorted his drink through his nose. Those times seemed so far away, and he thought it sad.

It was sadder, mostly, that he had fallen for Draco Malfoy of _all_ people.

For some inescapable reason he felt a twinge in his chest at the slight mention of the boy; him with his devilishly good looks and the attitude he possessed which proved all too alluring for Harry. He felt jealousy when Pansy draped herself over him, the compulsion to stride towards them both and throw her off him, to take his own hands and wrap them around Draco's slender waist. But that was childish and pathetic, and not Harry Potter. Instead he would merely settle for trying to keep the dreams and wild imaginations to himself, despite how much he wanted it. The chances of anything happening were slim, at best, and Harry didn't want to fool himself into thinking anything could ever occur between the two of them with a thinly veiled lie.

He did not attempt to look in the direction of the Slytherin table, nor did he think it was a good idea to ever sit facing the tantalising boy again. Harry felt himself sigh as Ron and Hermione began to nag him about his eating. Thing was, he just didn't feel like eating after such an explicit dream.

"Harry, you really ought to eat more. Professor Dumbledore will get worried if you don't!"

Ron agreed, spitting crumbs everywhere as he ferociously nodded and said, "'Mione's right, Harry. You don't want him calling you to his office, do you?"

"I'm fine," Harry insisted, taking a small bite of his toast just to amuse them both. "See?" he offered, waving the piece of toast in front of their faces.

"Can't you just listen?"

The bespectacled boy shrugged, frowning heavily. Oh, Hermione was always the voice of reason, and it was infuriating at the best of times. He knew she meant well, but he hadn't slept and with the combination of feeling out of place, Harry felt awfully snippy.

"I do," Harry shot back. "I'm just tired, is all. I promise I'll eat more later."

"You better."

Ron grinned to himself as he watched the both of them glare daggers at one another, the satisfied smirk playing on his lips until Hermione turned on him, shaking her head with sheer desperation and muttering a cold, "_Ronald_, don't encourage him."

"It's alright," Harry quickly interjected, watching as Ron's chewing slowed down to an almost irritated pace. The ginger-haired boy knitted his brows together, glaring at the piece of toast in his hand, before Harry kicked him under the table. Watch it, Ron.

Either way Harry answered, he knew he wold have nothing but bickering between the two of them. They had done nothingbut bicker the past few days, and it reminded Harry of two very petulant children.

After a long moment of silence, Hermione got to her feet with a flourish, tossing her hair over one shoulder. She regarded Ron with narrowed eyes, which fell and softened when he innocently smiled at her. Harry chuckled under his breath as she bid goodbye. Hermione was a sucker for his innocent demeanour.

* * *

Potter. Why was it that the word seemed to roll deliciously on his tongue? Before he had tasted nothing but bitterness, spitting the word with complete and utter venom- But now? Oh, things had, supposedly, changed. He found himself thinking about the curve of Potter's lips when they passed one another in the hallway, the way he so abashedly looked at the pretty girls in their classes. He should have been ashamed, but Draco was a proud soul. He thought it made him stronger, that he could finally have control over his own life—but that was a dream in itself, something he had seen so often in the Mirror of Erised.

"Draco?"

Cold, sharp eyes flickered from his watch to land upon the face of a timid Slytherin, a newcomer who was known as Edward. He despised newcomers, and greeted this one with the same icy cold words that usually came to mind. "What do you want? If it's money, you can bugger off. My father and I am not a bank, you know. And if it's a girl you need help with, I'm not interested. I have better things to do than listen to you pining, you ugly git."

He knew he was being harsh—but that never had mattered, had it? None of it mattered, actually. As far as Draco was concerned, the rest of the school and its entirety were idiotic. Except…Potter. Harry Potter was something entirely different; he had never known the familiarity of having a real family, nor had he ever been normal. He was the cliché and Draco loved to hate him. His interest was wholly piqued as soon as he had laid eyes on Potter, of course. He had that air of magnificence around him, and when Potter publicly declared he, Draco Malfoy, was the wrong person to be friends with, certain bitterness grew within and coursed through his veins.

"Well?" he urged. His voice was sharp and unforgiving. "Didn't you hear me? I'm busy."

"S-S-Snape," began the boy, eyes wide and bulging as he thickly swallowed. "W-W-Well, S-Snape wanted me t-t-t-to tell you-"

"_Hurry up_. "

Edward seemed to shrink, his already timid nature worsening by the minute. He merely stood there, transfixed and looking almost like a rabbit in headlights as Draco's eyes scoured the length of his body, piercing and observing him like a piece of meat.

"Snapewantedtotellyouthatyoumustcometohisofficeton ight."

And with that, the boy left, leaving Draco to drape his arm over his forehead in an overly dramatic fashion, a completely disdained sigh slipping through his lips.

"For Merlin's sake," he hissed, "You'd think that Snape would learn by now."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **I don't like anything I've written so far.

I may or may not scrap this, I'm not sure. Leave your thoughts.

* * *

"Mr Potter, do you know why you are here?"

Harry entered somewhat awkwardly, the heavy leather-bound books tucked under his bony arm. He shifted along the floor in his scruffy trainers (he and Ron had visited Hagrid once or twice in the past few days), his hair unkempt and wet from the rain.

"Well? Come now, Potter, you seemed more than willing to speak earlier." He paused, a flicker of a cruel smile playing on his lips as his cold, calculating eyes observed the teenager. "Ah. Are you not so willing, because you don't have an audience? Mr Potter, I thought Draco and I would suffice. Perhaps not. Sit."

As much as Harry wished to toss a scathing remark in the 'greasy-haired git's' direction, he held himself back and merely settled for sitting himself at the desk next to Draco's. It felt strange to be sitting that close to the Slytherin; nevertheless he knew Snape would not hesitate to embarrass him any further if he chose to sit anywhere else. So, Harry remained sitting there with a slightly disdainful expression on his face. He feared he would begin to enjoy his company—Draco's, at least—and repeated to himself that he was stuck in a room with his two enemies, treating it like some sort of sacred prayer in hopes it would mend his problem.

Snape sat still as he watched Harry absentmindedly sit, pulling at the loose threads on his clothes. A slight snarl curled onto his lips, and he soon averted his eyes from the scruffy Gryffindor to look at Draco. The Malfoy boy was clearly Lucius's proudest creation; whilst the boy was not adept at social situations, often coming across as a pompous, half-witted git, there was a level of intelligence he possessed that made him worthy enough of Snape's attention—and, judging by the way Potter was staring at Malfoy, it seemed he had captured the attention of the chosen one. A most impressive feat compared to anything else Draco had achieved as of yet.

"Potter," Snape started, smirking to himself from behind his desk as Harry jumped, "Does Mr Malfoy have something on his face?"

Harry squirmed in his seat, cheeks burning. He hesitated for a long moment, drawing a heavy, shaky breath until he grew enough courage to mutter, "No, professor."

A small noise of amusement slipped through Snape's lips. "Ah. So it seems the chosen one has found his chosen one. Well, this is most intriguing."

All the while this was going on, Draco found himself burning in his throat. A mask of complete and utter disgust disguised his true feelings, of which were locked deep and far away in the chambers of his heart. It was odd to think that Potter had been staring at him in that way; he loved the attention, craved it even, but still found it slightly unnerving.

Suddenly Snape turned on him, the same dripping tone of plain amusement dripping in his voice as he asked, "And what does Mr Malfoy think of this? Is he delighted to be the object of Mr Potter's adorations?"

"No," Malfoy quickly said, mentally cursing himself for the quickness of his answer. Even his voice threatened to give him away. "It's pathetic, really. But maybe Potter's moved on to boys, seeing as none of the girls want him."

"Say, Harry," he grinned, his tone mocking, "Crabbe and Goyle aren't very likely to get a girl either—Oh! Perhaps, you should take one of them out for dinner. They do love their food, after all, and they are very…easy."

Harry burned inside, a lump forming in his throat as Draco sat and continued to mock him. The way he regarded him with such disgust, as if he were humiliated by his staring, threatened tears. He didn't want this. In fact, he never asked for any of it, so deemed it wholly unfair. It was like some long suffering torment, and he had only just begun to realise it. He knew there was a long road ahead, and he most certainly would have to condition himself back into hating Malfoy.

He shifted on his seat as he felt Snape's eyes boring into him, Draco seemingly aware of Harry's discomfort and closing his mouth before saying anything more. The words were there, he just didn't know how to say them. The first words on this tip of his tongue were, "I bloody hate you, you git. I love you, and I hate you for it," but he merely settled for a bitter, "You've never had a girlfriend, Malfoy. Isn't there something youshould be telling us?"

"I hardly think that's any of your concern, Mr Potter, "Snape interjected, disliking how Draco had been put into an awkward position. With a flick of the wand he summoned the two boys a quill and pot of ink, before replacing his wand back inside his cloak and looking down at them both with darkened eyes.

"Turn to page 234. I want you to copy every single word on that page—no mistakes. Do you understand?" The two boys slowly nodded, and Snape turned to face the clock. "You have one hour, starting from now. Begin."

With a certain determination Harry picked up his quill and quickly dipped it into the ink, furrowing his brows as he began to scribble down the first sentence. Draco, on the other hand, was still trying to comprehend the way Harry had reacted. He was beginning to think that perhaps Potter liked him, due to the abruptness of his answer, but was soon distracted by the little pink tongue sticking out of Potter's mouth.

He couldn't help but wonder what that tongue could do, smiling to himself as he set to work.

* * *

It had been a long and weary hour, and by the end of it both Draco and Harry had grown used to the silence and no longer felt as awkward in one another's presence. Once or twice Harry even looked across at Draco to offer a sympathetic smile—only to be sneered at.

With a flourish Snape waved the books and equipment away, before turning to the clock and noting that they had stayed an extra five minutes. If he was kind enough and felt they had served their punishment well, he would have let them go earlier. However Snape felt as if both boys had wasted much of their time, and rose from the desk with a stern look on his face.

"Next time," he growled, "I would prefer it if you turned up at the appropriate time, Mr Potter. I would also prefer it if the both of you remained entirely focused on your potions work. Understood?"

A simple "yes" was said in unison by the two tired boys, who were now on the verge of running from the room, and with a satisfied smirk Snape sharply rose a hand and tugged on its sleeve.

"Tomorrow you will both be working as partners to brew a potion." He paused, observing the both of them for a reaction, and when the only reaction he noted was that the two boys snuck sideways glances at one another, he continued, " The potion will be of my choosing, and you will work with one another effectively. But for now, I am tired and the both of you look like you are about to drool over my floor, so go."

Both Harry and Draco stood from their chairs, murmuring feigned words of thanks as they shuffled past. And once they were stood outside of Snape's door, Harry bowed his head and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. "That was bloody awful," he offered in hushed tones.

Draco agreed. "Yes. I think that's the most agreeable thing you've ever said, Potter. Well done. Keep this up, and you might have a better chance of not having the piss taken out of you."

"-Wait," Harry snapped, jerking his head up. "Are you saying that you actually think I'm half-decent?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Potter. I never said anything of the sort."

"But-"

"No," Draco persisted, turning on his heels. He began to stride down the corridor, a hand reaching up to move the strands from his face. "What I'm saying, Potter, is that I'm only putting up with you because I have to."

"Likewise!" Harry called out after him, a boyish grin spreading across his lips. "You're an absolute git, Malfoy."

In the safety of the shadows Draco smiled, shaking his head as a small chuckle slipped through his lips. "And you're a knob, Potter. See you tomorrow."


End file.
